Winnie Travers

Part I

c"~~. #NE of our good old nurse's wise sayings, was this : " The mother of mischief is no bigger than a midge's wing." ■ Looking back upon the past, it appears to me utterly in conceivable that I, though then a mere child, could have so magnified httle grievances, that, in trying to escape them, I rushed into a step, the consequences of which have followed me through life. As often as I recall those few months, when my darling Ben and I were alone together, a full tide of remorseful bitter ness sweeps over my heart, — a longing to have again in my power the choice that was mine on that sweet Summer night, when I turned my back upon my one chance of happiness, and, blinded by my headlong pride and selfishness, refused to heed the voice of my better angel, my brother, my little Ben. Though Time has rolled on since then, the whole is' as vividly before me as though it had happened but a month ago. I can recall scenes, words, even the smallest trifles, without an effort. That time is too well remembered, ever to pass away. E

Chapter I

"Tc/TOU have often wanted to know how it all began. I Sr'" will tell you. *~*^ The beginning was on one very hot summer day, the very hottest I can remember in all my hfe. The ahwas heavy with sultry heat ; the flowers drooped and fainted. One saw everything through a sort of hot, misty, shimmer. Even the birds seemed oppressed by the unwonted heat, and, be taking themselves to the deepest shade, almost ceased their song. Insect life alone was active and stirring : the gnats and midges floated in little clouds, and seemed to fill the air. Ben and I lay buried in the moss and ferns and nodding grasses of the wood, trying to cool ourselves, and failing miserably. I was in a state of boiling, bubbling fury ; and Ben's anger, though modified, was quite enough to keep him warm. The cause of our wrath was this ; that whereas we two undeserving pickles had hitherto reigned supreme in the household, we had now some idea that our father contem plated a second marriage ; for so said our doting old nurse, who, with many " Oh's" and "Ah's," and "poor dears," told us what she and the other servants suspected, and added, that if it was really true, they all meant to warn, and that only she (and she hoped, Miss Parsons) would stay on, out of love to us.

" I'm afraid it's true, you poor dear lambs," she sighed; "else why does your papa keep going away so often — twice a week or more ? And why is he always looking out for the letter-bag ? And why does he post some of his letters himself, instead of sending them by the boy ! Ah ! it's a bad job, depend upon it ! " And nurse shook her head ominously. We had received this shock that afternoon, and had gone off to the wood, to discuss our plan of opposition. " Of course," said I, "Father will give in, when he finds we are firm ; for we must be firm, Ben, — mind that ! I can trust myself, but I am rather afraid of you." Ben vowed to be firm as any fifty rocks. " We won't be too hard upon him you know, Ben ; we will forgive him as soon as he promises never to see the horrid woman again." — " Nor to write to her, Winnie," put in Ben.

" Quite right, Ben; very sensible of you ! Now, hadn't we better go to Father at once, and let him have our ultimatum — I think that's the right word, eh ? It would never do to make a blunder when we want to be impressive." " And Winnie, we must tell him that we see through his motive for wanting to send us to school. The idea ! When Miss Parsons has been teaching us for so many years. I am sure you must be quite enough educated for anything." " It was because I spelt ' scissors' ' sizars,' Ben ; but I daresay nine people out of ten would do the same, without all this fuss being made about it." " I have heard that spelling is a gift, Winnie dear; and that, not to be able to spell, is no proof of being uneducated." " I thought, Ben, it was all that old cat Jezebel's doing ; but now I see it was from quite a different motive, and so I shall tell father."

" Suppose Father's crusty, Winnie ?" urged Ben, with ill concealed reluctance for the proposed interview. .•" Oh, he never could be, with us ! Haven't we always got our own way ?" " Still " urged Ben ;— " Ben, if you're afraid, I'll go alone !" " No, Winnie darling, that you shan't. I'm not a bit afraid." " Then let's go now, Ben, before we change our minds !" We found our father in his study, not, as usual, deep in his beloved books, but seated before the window, with an open letter in his hand. Our dear father ! How we loved him ! And yet we had come here, fully bent on opposition. He turned as we entered, and the dear kindly smile with which he, as usual, greeted us, made me answer in rather faltering tones to his " Well, dears ?" " Father, we have come to — to — say something." And then I stuck fast; but I gave Bennie a httle "dudge," as a signal that he was to take up the parable. — " To say, Father to ask at least, I mean, to Winnie wiU tell you," stammered the recreant Ben, his corn-age failing him at the last.

" What is it, darlings ?" asked our father, with the same kind smile. e Lidignant at Ben's defalcation, I said, " We want to say, Papa, that we won't go to school !" This was a middle course ; the question of the marriage was to be an after consideration, and would doubtless occur at a later stage of conversation. " Not go to school, Winnie ?" " No, Papa, we think Miss Parsons quite as good as any schoolmistress ; and she has taught us for years and years, and if we don't know enough from her teaching, it's not likely we shaU learn more from a snuffy old schoolmistress." " My dear Winnie, this is arrant nonsense," said our father, with an amused expression. " As if a little girl like you, could possibly be a judge. Your Aunt Jemima says that you are utterly and lamentably deficient in education and manners ; and I fear" — "Bother Aunt Jemima !" was my irreverent rejoinder.

" She's a spiteful old cat !" " Now Winnie, Winnie" — remonstrated our father. " Yes, Father, and a humbug. She is always talking about ' the Lord ;' and people who are always talking about ' the Lord,' are humbugs. I'm sure the Lord doesn't like it, and Aunt Jemima has no business to talk in that way. It is too familiar, I thhik." "My dear child!" " Well, Papa, it does so provoke me to hear her talk that sort of cant and twaddle. God is so much above us all." In my great indignation against poor Aunt Jemima, I was for getting the purpose of our interview ; but I harked back. " So, Father, it is decided that we are not to go to school ?" " Not at ah, Winnie," responded our father, with, for him, an astonishing amount of decision ; " it is decided that you are to go to school." Ben and I stared at each other in mute surprise.

At last, indignation gaining the mastery over astonishment, up spake I. " Why don't you speak out, and be honest, Father ? You have a reason for wanting to get rid of us ! You are going to marry a horrid designing woman — to set a step-mother over us, who will make our hves a misery" — (quoting from nurse). Here I stopped, almost choking with excitement. "Winnie!" from Father, in a tone that ought to have crushed me to the earth, it was so full of grief and pain. " Winnie ! this from you !" I heard a sound of sobbing behind me, and Ben pleading, " Oh Winnie, don't ! don't 1 Poor Father 1" "Ben, you're a fool!" But it was all I could do to keep from crying myself. I longed to fling my arms round our dear father's neck, and tell him how I loved him, and hated myself. Silence ensued. It was a crisis.

Each of us instinctively dreaded making the first move. I felt as if the ticking of the clock on the chimney-piece, were counting out the moments that still remained before we should openly defy our father. How loud it was ! how aggravating ! Then he spoke. " Children, I am sorry this has happened. Sorry ? I am pained more than you can understand. You are so young, poor little things !" He paused, as though he, too, dreaded what was to come. " Dear Winnie, and my little Ben," — Ben rushed forward, and, throwing his arms round Father's neck, held him tight. " Dears, you are quite right in thinking that I am about to marry, but not in saying that the lady is ' designing,' or that she will be a harsh mother to you. There was no necessity for me to tell you anything about it till something was de cided.

This letter has decided it." "Papa! Papa! Papa! Don't marry ! We will be good children, indeed we will ! But oh ! don't marry ! Don't ! don't !" And I feU at his feet, and clasped his knees, crying piteously. " Why, my little Winnie, you are unreasonable," he sooth ingly remonstrated, drawing me to his knee. " Listen dear." And he spoke so reasonably, so patiently, so convincingly, that we must have been little fiends, to hold out still. " Winnie darling, when your mother died, twelve years ago, you were a little helpless child, and your brother, whom we named ' Benjamin' because he was the youngest and last, was still more helpless. I thought it would be a good thing to ask your Aunt Jemima to keep the house, and attend to your bringing up. She, as you know, was my step-sister, and some years my senior, and had been an excellent manager in my father's house, keeping everything in perfect order."

(Ben and I exchanged looks, which meant, that Aunt Jemima had kept our poor father in "perfect order" too.) "So Aunt Jemima came here." Our father paused, and then, with manifest reluctance, continued: "Now children, Aunt Jemima is an excellent woman !" We both burst into an explosion of laughter. Our father tried to look grieved, but failed signally. The corners of his mouth relaxed. " Children, you should not laugh at Aunt Jemima. She is an exceUent woman, but she is not suited to this house, nor is the house suited to her." " Send her away, Father !" " Pack her off !" This was shouted in a breath, by both. Our father appeared not to notice our kindly suggestion. He resumed : " Therefore, a change must be made, my dears, and I hope it will be welcome to all. Aunt Jemima would not stay in the house except as its head.

If another take the head of authority, Aunt Jemima will leave." Oh ! the dear, cunning old father, to tempt us with such a bait ! To get rid of " old Jemmy !" Blissful thought ! For one moment I wavered, and was disposed to re-consider the matter; but then I remembered the "Seven devils more wicked than before," and I determined to accept no compromise. So I replied: "No, Father; you know it is said, 'Of two evils, choose the least.' " " My dear, the less would be better English," put in father. " Oh ! what does it matter, so long as you know what I mean, dear ? If you can't get rid of Aunt Jemima in any other way than than that, she must stay ; it can't be helped." Again there was a silence ; it was broken by our father. " But Winnie, you don't know how lonely my life is. Your aunt is no companion for me ; on the contrary, we differ on almost every subject.

Then, the bickerings and dissensions between her and you, make my life miserable." " Papa, we won't bicker and dissent any more, if only you won't marry," pleaded little Ben. Again a pause. Then our father spoke decidedly. " Children, I have pleaded with you as few fathers would have done. I have nothing more to say, except that I have thought well over the matter, the lady has consented to be come my wife, and I intend to marry." "Then Papa, we won't stay here!" was my passionate, despairing cry ; and we both rushed headlong from tho house and into the garden, and both bewailed our fate in wild and tearful invective. Little Ben spoke. "Don't cry, Winnie darling; perhaps Father will change his mind." "No Ben — No-o-o," I sobbed. "Hewo-o-n't! Hewo-o-n't! O-O-h !" My grief was so infectious, that Bennie also gave way, and we howled till we howled ourselves out.

Not for the life of me could I have squeezed another tear out of my eyes. " I feel better now, Ben," said I, blowing my nose vigor ously. " How do you feel ?" " I'm better, too," said Ben. ",Ben, what do you advise ?" " Well dear, as you are sure Father won't give in, I suppose we must ; don't you think so ?" "What!" I exclaimed, in shrill indignation. " Oh Ben ! I didn't think you were so mean-spirited!" Poor Ben coloured painfully. " It's only that you asked me to advise, Winnie. I'll do whatever you think best." " WeU Ben, I thought, as you had seen a httle more of the world than I, having been at school for twelve months, you might be able to suggest a remedy." " No, Winnie, I don't think I saw much of the world when I was at school. I only learnt to fight, and to talk in a more manly way than girls."

Poor httle Ben ! He had learnt a good deal of school slang, and had come home to ventilate it. It appeared to me so charming, so altogether different from the style of Aunt Jemmy and Miss Parsons, that I had forthwith adopted it, to such an extent, that Aunt Jemima represented to our father that " since Ben had gone to school, Winnie had grown hke a boy ;" whereupon our poor father, instead of arranging, as old Jemmy hoped, for Ben's remaining at school during the holidays, decreed that he should stay at home altogether. So, in order that I should not grow like a boy, poor Ben was in a fair way to grow like a girl. However, we rejoiced exceedingly in the consequences of Aunt Jem's remonstrance, and resolved that any future attempt to send Ben to school should result in awful language on my part.

" Ben," said I, after a long pause, " I have it !" "What ?" asked Ben. " Let us emigrate !" " We ? Why Winnie, we are only children ! What would become of us ?" " Oh ! we should do well, Ben ! I am not a young child, at all events. We will scrape together all our savings. I haven't turned out my money-box for ever so long, and there are aU my Christmas-boxes, and birthday presents, and pocket-money. I have always thought, what did we want with pocket-money, when everything was bought for us ; but now, how useful it mil be !" " Yes Winnie ; and how fortunate that we have rich rela tions living at a distance, who send us five pound notes in stead of presents, because they don't know what we would like to have." " Yes indeed, Ben. Let me see" — counting on my fingers — "Last Christmas, five pounds from Aunt Catherine, five pounds from Aunt Janet — (Funny ! that they won't come to see us, and won't let us go and see them, but send us presents aU the same, isn't it ?) — ten pounds from Uncle Dick.

Then my birthday — five pounds more. How much is that ? Why, twenty-five pounds. A great sum, Ben !" " I," said Ben, "have my Christmas presents, but my birth day has not yet come, you know. Then, there is my pocket money — ever so much." " Ben, let us instantly go and break open our money-boxes." And so we did, and found that we could muster between us the splendid sum of £60, which seemed to us perfectly inex haustible. " Nurse," said I, to that too partial adherent of ours, " do you ever hear from Nancy, now ?" Nancy was her married daughter, who had emigrated to Australia two years ago. "Yes, my dear, and she's well and happy." " Does she like Australia as well as England ?" " Oh no ! She says there's nothing like the old country. She likes its ways better than the rough ways of them out there."

" Why doesn't she come back if she doesn't like it ?" " Because it took a deal of money to get there, and it would take too much to come back ; a deal of money !" " Was it comfortable on board the ship, nurse ? Do they give each person a nice bed-room and sitting-room ?" " Bless you no, dear ! Why, there's ever so many huddled together all of a heap, and they've got to put up with it as they can." " Oh Ben, how dreadful that must be !" I exclaimed. " I am sure ice should not like that." •' Dear heart, no !" exclaimed nurse ; " it's bad enough for poor working people, but ladies and gentlemen could never abide it." So our idea of emigrating was nipped in the bud ; not so our resolve to defy aggression. The afternoon passed away. Dinner time came; we dined at seven. Father gave his arm to Miss Parsons, and to Aunt Jemima to conduct her to the head of the table.

Ben and I followed, walking mincingly on the tips of our toes, and screwing in our shoulders, in derisive imitation of our aunt. She no doubt heard our ill-bred and but half-suppressed chuckles of laughter, and divined that they were indulged in, on her account. Had she turned round suddenly she would inevitably have caught us in the act of dropping a sweeping curtsey and low bow, also in derision. However, that she must have guessed at a part of what was going on, we knew by the grace that prefaced the meal. Aunt Jem always said grace, and when we had offended her, invariably seasoned it with httle ebullitions of wrath and spite, delicious to our souls. This was Aunt Jem's grace on this occasion: "We prav that this meal may be blessed to all here assembled, that aU wrath, hatred, clamour, and ill-breeding may be banished from this board.

Amen." While this httle Jeremiad was in course of delivery, poor Ben, trying to be good, had studiously avoided meeting my eyes, and had kept his firmly riveted to the table-cloth. A slight cough from me caused him, however, to look up. An explosion of laughter from hoth of us was the result, and followed as close upon the " Amen," and with much the same effect, as a crackling peal -of thunder upon a vivid flash of lightning. Father looked up, and was no doubt about to reprove us, when Aunt Jem took up the cudgels herself. " Winifred," demanded she, in icy tones, " Have you ever heard what most resembles the ' crackling of thorns under a pot' ?" " No, never, Aunt Jemima," I replied, with an innocent look. "It is a conundrum, I suppose ?" " The laughter of fools!" she said, with a strong emphasis on the last word.

" The laughter of fools ? I don't see it, Aunt Jemima. How stupid I am at conundrums ! Please to explain what it means ; I think old Pinchley likes conundrums, and if I knew the meaning of that one, I would ask him." Aunt Jem looked vinegar cruets. She had a lurking kind ness for the Curate, and we knew it. "Ben," I continued, "I was reading the Proverbs this morning, and came to that verse, ' A continual dropping in a very rainy day, and a contentious woman are alike ;' and I couldn't make out what it meant. Does it mean that both are so stupid and boring and wearisome? I must ask old Pinchley." At this crisis I became suddenly aware that our father's eyes were fixed upon me in stern displeasure. I turned scarlet ; I could not bear that look from him. Struggling against my tears, I bolted morsel after morsel in silence.

But Aunt Jemima would not drop the cudgels ; she soon resumed. " I think it highly improper, Winifred, that you should speak of sacred things in this irreverent manner." My bump of fun got the better of me ; I roared with laughter. " Oh, Aunt Jemima, you will kill me if you go on ! To think of calling old Pinchley ' a sacred thing' !" " Brother ! do you aUow me to be insulted by this unmannerly child ?" demanded Aunt Jem in tragic tones. " Winnie, be silent !" from Father. But I saw his risible faculties were also strongly excited. Aunt Jem glanced triumphantly at me. I had my revenge. My eye chanced to glance towards the carpet, whereon lay — a portion of Aunt Jem's " front !" Quick as thought I spoke to the footman. " George, be kind enough to pick up Aunt Jemima's curl." George obeyed, and handed it on a salver to its owner.

I looked towards Ben, who was drinking beer. That glance was fatal. Poor Ben had to rush choking into the hall, where I joined him, and, seated on the lowest step of the staircase, gave vent to peal after peal of laughter. Five minutes later we returned to the table. Solemn silence lasted throughout the remainder of the meal.

Chapter II. Jst

was Sunday morning, and we were starting for church. We did not much care for Sunday in a general way, and this Sunday we knew would not be very pleasant, for the Rector was away, and Mr. Pinchley was to do the whole service ; sermon, alas ! included. The church was not far off, and as our good father held that the Sabbath was specially instituted for the repose of all working creatures, especially the brute creation, he would not allow his horses out on Sunday. I was always uncomfortable on that day because I had to dress properly, and I hated dress. During the week I was accustomed to put on a clean print frock every morning, which I changed for a muslin one in the evening. A chestnut mane flowed over my shoulders, down to my waist, unres trained by comb or net. Nurse groomed this mane twice a day.

On Sunday, however, I had to dress for church, and the mane was coerced into the semblance of humanity. We always started in this order. First, our father and Aunt Jemima; then we two and Miss Parsons. We liked Miss Parsons ; she was a kindly creature, and let us have our own way. Aunt Jemima that day bloomed forth in a silk dress that " stood on end of itself," as nurse expressed it, and a bonnet of wondrous beauty, in which rose-buds and lilies did tlieir best to produce a striking, nay appalling effect. One bud nestled jauntily, half against Aunt Jemima's front, half upon her polished brow. Then Aunt Jem had a most ravishing little parasol. On the whole, her " turn out" (as we called it) was tremendous, and contrasted wonderfully with that of quiet Miss Parsons, with her small slight figure, clad in her inva riable suit of modest grey, her silvery undyed locks neatly braided beneath a plain straw bonnet, trimmed with white.

We children knew, as well as though Aunt Jem had told us, for whose delectation her gorgeous " get up" was contrived; for whose, but that of Mr. Pinchley ? " Now, dear Winnie," said Miss Parsons, in soft pleading tones, like the cooing of a nice old grey dove, " do try to behave well in church. Think for how short a time it lasts I And you will have plenty of time to laugh afterwards." " Yes, but I shan't have the same things to make me laugh! Pinchley, you know, casting sheep's eyes (this word had been imported from Ben's school, and adopted with rapture by me) — I beg your pardon, dear, I forgot that you don't hke that word; — well, casting tender glances between the heads of his ' discourse' at the heads in our pew. I fear he will to day have to divide his sermon into four heads, and two tails, before his great mind can fully take in Aunt Jemima's ravishing bonnet."

" S-h-h-h, she will hear you," whispered Miss Parsons. " I don't care if she does — old cat !" " Oh Winnie, some day you may be old yourself, and then how would you hke to be laughed at by your niece." " If I deserved it, I should have to put up with it, I suppose. It is her own fault ; she is spiteful against me because I am young. When I am old, I won't be spiteful against young people ; I'U remember that I have had my turn, and that now it is theirs. Now, you are old, dear," I added with charming frankness ; " but no one despises you for it; you are such a dear. Hallo ! here's the conventicle." "Oh pray, Winnie dear, don't say 'hallo,'" nmrruured Miss Parsons, as we entered the church. The Rev. Mr. Pinchley had just entered the desk. Ben and I knelt down side by side, and gave each other a wicked " dudge," as we observed Aunt Jemima glance at him through the fingers of her mauve gloves.

She and Papa and Miss Parsons sat at the top of the square family pew ; Ben and I, " slantendicular," as we called it, that is, at right angles to them. Thus our position commanded a fine view of Aunt Jemmy and the Curate at the same time. We managed to behave well, tiU the " Venite," calling forth Aunt Jemima's vocal powers, sent us into agonies of sup pressed laughter. It seemed as if such roulades, quavers, trills, and howls, could only be caused by irrepressible anxiety to attract the attention of the Rev. Mr. Pinchley. Ben and I were in quiet convulsions. I kept my arms screwed tight against my sides, lest he should " dudge" me, and he did the same, for a similar reason. It was the greatest blessing to us, when the " Venite" came to an end. Before the " Te Deum " began we had schooled ourselves into propriety, and were able to preserve a sedate deportment throughout that remarkable performance.

But when once Aunt Jemima got fairly under weigh in the Litany, we could only bury our faces in our hands, and choke as silently as possible. Aunt Jemmy's " Spare us, good Lord," uttered in stern contralto, was a fierce command; and in the next response, she pronounced the word " beseech," as though she were giving a forcible push to the person addressed, and wished him to feel that she was in earnest, and would stand no nonsense. However, all trials come to an end, sooner or later, and at last the morning service was over, and the sermon about to commence. Aunt Jemima's eyes were fixed upon the preacher with an expression of rapt devotion, suitable to a St. Cecilia in her best Sunday-going bonnet. The sermon seemed to be addressed to the working-classes, and was intended to enforce the duty of contentment with thenlot, and submission to their superiors.

Whenever the Curate's eyes were not fixed upon our pew, they rested severely upon a very aged and decrepit female parishioner, who, throughout, preserved an expression of crumpled-up meekness and resignation, as though she were duly sensible of her many shortcomings, and of her sure title to eternal perdition. His text was, " In my Father's house are many mansions." How on earth the preacher managed to twist that unhappy text so wide of its meaning, was a marvel; but he did, and, as he wended his dreary way through that chaos of a sermon, the poor old woman became more and more crumpled up, and Aunt Jemima more and more enrapt. Whenever he used the words, " Dear friends" (a favourite expression of his) or "Beloved," liis eyes rested for a moment on our pew; when he talked of " sinners," the poor abject old woman felt that his eye was upon her.